Sunlight On the Horizon
by Yah Yeet
Summary: A month after Hook stabbed Rumpelstiltskin in New York, the pirate finds his way back to Storybrooke to regain his ship and make sure the Crocodile truly is dead. Turns out he missed a lot of events, the most significant one being that Emma Swan is now the Dark One. The pirate faces: the fun and easy way of joining her, or the hard and right way of bringing her back to the light.
1. The Dark Swan

Have her eyes gone blue? Definitely paler…

The last time he'd seen them, they'd been green—murky green, danger lurking behind their depths like a Siren's lake, effectively luring him into their trance. And: yes, there'd been sparks of harlequin, too, glints shimmering there like wildcards, promising irresistibility, delirium…rapture beyond the very end of the world.

Alas, that was before; now, those eyes appear to have been invaded. As if the siren inside had lost vigour—abandoned ship—and the neglected lake froze from gusting gales. No sign of life remains on the sheets of ice that now glare right at him. None at _all_! Absurd as it is, that such a thing could exist—that such an intriguing land could be plagued like _that_!—he has more, ah, _pressing_ matters at hand, at the moment. Such as the fingers _pressing_ into his heart.

He must admit, this isn't the first time he'd been plunged into such a situation as this: A Crocodile and a literal Queen of Hearts had both enjoyed sinking their hands and grabbing such a jewel—one, which, of the many treasures he'd swept within his possession, he's always been most fond of, lest he _die_ —but both such fiends directed their nasty tempers elsewhere, before lasting damage was done. Now, third time running, this action has actually become quite acquainted with him; so, he believes, will the mercy of his heart—well, figuratively, this, _mercy_ , is less than a stranger…a positive enemy, with his life, with everyone he lost—albeit if he plays it, ah, _cool_ , then Swan would spare him.

"I bear you no harm, Miss Swan: my journey to Storybrooke was simply so that I could return to my realm. I desire in no way to interrupt your…" What, exactly? Some sort of—charade? A very bizarre turn of events, in all honestly. _Hmm, let's see_ … So, New York. Poisoned Crocodile. Then she knocked him out; the bruise is still throbbing, next to its older sibling, of which Emma had also bestowed him with back at Lake Nostos. Of course, they took The Jolly Roger—indeed, he _is_ proud of captaining the fastest ship in all the realms, once belonging to The Royal Navy, later being, several times, enchanted from various stolen goods to increase her stamina and therefore she tends to be targeted often for her gift. They took his ship instead of one of those loud contraptions, but they obviously had to, trying to save the Crocodile.

And then, that's it. No hide nor scaly shred of skin was to reach his ears; he didn't get to see the Crocodile die, watch him suffer agonizingly—bloody hell, he didn't even know if the creature was even _dead_! All because of Emma bloody buggering Swan. But now? The woman's ready to kill him on the spot (not hugely unusual for her standards), but there doesn't appear to be any apparent reason for her to do so, right now, while he had simply been in pursuit of his beloved ship; making sure the Crocodile is dead would come later. Perhaps…perhaps she expects him to go straight after Gold? Well, it is a common trait for a pirate to get his gold, so maybe her actions are rather justified—especially given her Saviour status.

" _You lie_." Well, not exactly…

"Ah, right—your superpower! How _could_ I forget?" Teeth bared, she moves slightly closer to him; he can't help but notice that the distance between their lips is scarce, and, briefly, an image of leaning forward to close that very distance rolls in his mind—probably a bad idea, considering how she's more likely to sink her teeth into his flesh rather than respond passionately. _So pick-up lines probably won't work, then._ He has a nasty feeling that will simply be a trigger for her to crush his heart to cinder, right here, right now.

"Gold's dead, Hook." There should be something of this news—joy, thrill, exhilaration that Milah is _finally_ avenged—but there's only an empty acceptance. Crimson lips curl into a smirk, a rather foreboding one. "But not by your hands—excuse me—by your _hook_."

 _Not…by_ my _hands?_

"What?" It's not a croak—nor is it a demand. His voice doesn't, in any form or way, betray emotion. Just a skeleton. She chuckles; a velvety sound that leaves a ringing in his ears, a dizziness to his head.

" _I_ killed him, Hook. See, like you, he was wreaking too much havoc in my town…and no jail cell would keep the bastard _put_. In fact, everything loops back to Gold—the curse itself, the misery of my entire family…"

"But that means—" _Bloo_ dy _hell!_ "Emma, are you the—"

"Dark One?" She chuckles darkly. "Yes."

The Saviour is the Dark One.

The delightfully fiery woman he first met is now an ice-cold demon.

What the bloody hell did he miss?


	2. The Beauty Of Choice

Hook's momentary confusion with the Saviour's transformation to the Dark One vanished as soon as Rumpelstiltskin's death had really sunk in. Abruptly, he finds himself dwelling on hundreds of years' worth of anger; pure, unaltered, sharp and bitter anger, and how it affected who he was.

" _What kind of man do you want to be?"_ was Brennan Jones' final words to Killian Jones—right before he sold his sons to the navy. As pathetic an example of a father as he was (perhaps more pathetic than the Crocodile himself), Brennan Jones' query had stuck with Killian Jones his entire life. Constantly, he questioned himself, just what _kind_ of man _did_ he really want to be?

Now, he doesn't even know. Now, with the Crocodile's death, finally came the acceptance that Milah is really, truly, dead, no longer can he distract himself from that fact. Now, he is less of a pirate, less of an orphan, less of a man…he's a hollow shell of a human being. There is nothing left for him.

So Emma Swan killing him quite suddenly seems more merciful than her sparing his life.

All she needs is a little _pressure_.

"Well then, love, now that I'm sated, I can return to my pillaging and plundering. As I'm aware that magic beans are scarce, I think I'll make myself comfortable in Storybrooke for a while…" With a smirk (the type that—usually–infuriates), Hook watches as her eyes narrow. His heart can feel, _ever_ so slightly, an increase in pain as her fingers slowly tighten. _It's bloody working_. It's here that Hook contemplates how the Emma Swan he first met would've at least given a comment, one that amused, delighted or irritated him, brief though it may be—regardless of whether she was trying to kill him or not. Instead he was met with steely frostbitten silence. Perhaps…he could have some _fun_ before he dies; probe the demon to discover if the Emma Swan he met might still be there.

The one hand he has that had been drooped uselessly at his side now itches to touch the hair that had once cascaded carelessly around her face like freshly made chains of gold—except, now, the hair is tied back in a curt bun…and he's not sure if it's due to the moonlight glowing above them, but it seems as though the gold has been replaced with silver. Taking his eyes off hers, they slowly drag down her figure. Leather, all black leather, quite like himself, but hers hugs her quite tightly, oh so _deliciously_. When he looks back up, her eyes are still slits; her hand, however, hasn't crushed his heart, yet.

Just how much fun is there to be had?Hook calculates, trying to break those ice-glazed eyes. Time won't grant him that long.

 _Tick tock, then._

With that, Hook gradually inches towards her, smirk evolving from infuriating to ravening. Much to his surprise, her hand doesn't tighten. _You're enjoying this, aren't you, Swan?_ He's so close now the skin of her face (which seems to be _radiating_ cold) is whispering against his scruff.

"Although, Swan, rather than contend to grievances, how would you like to indulge in some more _enjoyable activities_?"

Silence…then a vacant chuckle. Not even a _hint_ of emotion. _Damn it, demon!_ Even a quip from her would've tamed his frustration—alas, recycling an old innuendo he'd used with her clearly didn't stir up the woman he'd fought at Lake Nostos. Here, Captain Hook finds himself racking his brains for something, anything, that he could conjure and puncture the Saviour's icy wall with.

"I'm doing an enjoyable activity right now, actually." Wait…a quip, a _quip_ — _a quip_! Hook wanted to crow with his delight, because, within that very _quip_ , there was _emotion_ , _amusement_ , even; not just that stony voice devoid of life. The fiery Emma Swan had surfaced her head, momentarily. Now he needs to push deeper…

"You know what I mean," he purrs into her ear.

And this time, Swan murmurs right next to his own ear. Her words dance—fiery little imps as they are—like ecstasy across his mind, smouldering every good thought remaining there. _Something else to live for_ … Moving backwards ever so slightly, he looks into her eyes; perhaps the lack of thawing should concern him, but his attention is drawn to the scarlet simper, velvety, like _silk_ , inviting him.

" _What kind of man do you want to be?"_ clashed into Emma Swan's words. His damn Father had a true impact.

One moment of hesitation—

His heart is gone.

Hook watches, in shock, as his heart pulses in Emma Swan's hand—almost black, only some red glow emerging from like rays of sun. He'd actually _forgotten_ her hand was still in his chest. _There's still a siren in her_.

With a cold smirk, she vanishes with a puff of charcoal smoke.

The heartless Captain Hook stays rooted next to the town line, dazed. There's a ringing in his mind of his Father's words, and then of Emma's words:

" _I want you to help me, Killian Jones."_


	3. The Prince's Lament

_Thanks for the reviews! :D_

* * *

Tension.

Everyone in the Evil Queen's strangely decorated room are heavy with it.

Captain Hook normally has this effect—albeit, now, he feels their attentions are, uh, _unwarranted_. It's the kind he normally basks in while he's victorious from coveting treasure with his crew; not when he lost a treasure (his heart, for that matter), all alone. If Hook had the choice, he would have ambled around the town on his own, heartless though he may be. But he doesn't have a choice…he is, ah, _helping_ Emma Swan.

" _You_ walked into the town without any consequence?" Regina snaps. "Am I to believe the Dark One didn't stop you?"

"Aye." He flashes a signature grin—as Emma requests…or, uh, commands. "Perhaps the Dark Swan has taken to me." Hook adds, smirking, not only because of the incredulous looks he received from the people in the three people in the room (especially her father), but also a little squeeze of his heart on Emma's behalf for disobeying her…at least, he can still irritate her.

One moment, anger radiates from the Evil Queen's eyes as she clenches a glass with a liquid (which Hook had, for the longest time, been trying to conclude what _kind_ : it's the exact same colour as rum, but it's much, much thinner in consistency). The next moment, the Evil Queen turns to Prince Charming—a man of whom Hook hasn't failed to notice is now riddled with loss, despite the pirate's heartless state, most likely from Emma being taken by the darkness—and the Prince rips his stare from the Queen to Hook, eyes flashing ominously.

"I don't understand—Emma's been guarding that town line, not letting anyone in or out." A second man, of whom Hook has no idea is, says. "When I tried to go with Henry…"

"With _my son_ ," Regina growls. "I'm actually glad Emma stopped you, Baelfire."

 _Baelfire?_

Hook studies the man glaring at Regina. _Damn, this realm really did a number on you._ It's here Hook ponders…what the _bloody hell_ did the Crocodile's son want to do with Emma's one?

"Well, he's also my son!" Baelfire snarls. _Oh._ "Hence why you should let me see him in whatever hidey hole you have him in, _your majesty_."

"I'm the only person who can know where he is…Emma nearly took him from me again, and this time round she has darkness rearing its head, ready to strike at my son at any—"

"Despite the darkness she's consumed, Emma _won't_ hurt Henry." The Prince interjects. At their protests, the Prince directs his stare to Baelfire "Rumpelstiltskin still loved you, even if he was afraid to let go of his power. Why do you think we're all here in this land in the first place?" His words swiftly cause the arguers to fall silent. Voice raw (from wariness?), the Prince sighs, before looking back at Hook. "Why did you come to Storybrooke in the first place, Hook?"

"Came back to make sure the Crocodile was dead." Baelfire tenses, fists balled.

" _You started all of this._ " He hisses at Hook.

Emma instructs him to ignore this remark.

"I can assume as you've just referred to Emma as the Dark One that Rumpelstiltskin is well and truly dead."

"So now you can take your leave." The Prince states firmly.

"Before I do, I'd like to know: where's your lovely wifey?" Emma doesn't like his disobeying, and she squeezes his heart, a lot harder this time, he notices, but _come on, demon_ , he needs a _little_ fun.

The Prince sheds his tired demeanour immediately to flaring anger. Before he knows it Hook finds himself helplessly watching as the Prince charges towards him and the chair he's tied to. Momentarily he glances at Regina in an almost silent plea, but the Queen gives him an evil little smirk.

 _Bitch._

As the Prince pounces on Hook in ape-like fashion, the chair that supports the pirate groans as its shoved so that Hook is laying on his back, looking at the very clean ceiling (much unlike the grubby decking of his cabin that he watched many a night as he futilely attempted to sleep). The contact with the floor had also bestowed an irritating throbbing on the back of his head. Before he knows it, the Prince's hands are on his throat, squeezing much like his daughter has done numerous times to the pirate's heart.

Despite all this, Hook manages a strained chuckle.

"Trouble in paradise?"

 _Just kill me already. Put me out of my misery!_

"Neal's right–YOU STARTED ALL OF THIS!" It should bother Hook that he's more amused at the reference of 'Neal' to Baelfire rather than the fact that he is being throttled half to death. So the lad wanted to hide from his father, make it harder to be found. Hook can't blame him there.

"Charming," Regina admonishes now, though Hook isn't fooled when he hears a hint of her relishing his suffering. After all, he had once failed to kill her mother.

"Maybe it's for the best," Baelfire states, as if discussing a schedule for Henry's education, "that we let David kill him. Clearly if the Dark One allows him in, it can't be for a good reason."

Their voices are starting to fade as Hook's breath begins to falter.

"… _enough of this_!" Regina's voice rudely disrupts his greeting of death.

Gasping air, Hook watches the thrashing Prince levitate towards the ceiling. What is it that Hook feels? Disappointment, perhaps, that he is not dead. He is not free. Yet he also can't push away a growing curiosity at the Prince's reaction. Sure, the man isn't the most level-headed; his determination to prove his bravery has caused this man to carry out some very stupid acts—Hook would know, from observing the Royals from a distance back in the Enchanted Forest. Despite their status, he couldn't help, couldn't stop himself, from watching their love: pure, passionate love. It reminded him somewhat of Milah and him; despite their exteriors, their love was pure and gold, just like the two Royals' one was. True love. Now, however, simply the mention of his wife from an enemy had caused the Prince to go ballistic. There was no bravery needed.

The man floating above him glowers down at him, hatred burning into Hook. Almost in shock, the pirate recognizes the glaze of pain that had revealed itself in the Prince's eyes. That very same glaze he'd seen in his own reflection for two-hundred years after Milah had died. Not sure why, Hook almost feels…he feels a _pang_. Sympathy. Even for this git.

"I'm sorry for your loss, mate." Hook mutters. Emma presses his heart very hard now, and he winces. It's almost as if the pain of loss has caused her to lose control of her grip. _Unless Emma killed her_ , he thinks darkly. _Very like Regina-like, Swan._

The room is deadly silent, the Prince limp from the words he'd just heard. Eyes widening in realization of what Hook means—the Prince's temper reignites—then said eyes start bulging.

"SORRY?" He hollers, and keeps repeating this word, over and over and over again, as if he thinks they would shoot down at Hook like cannonballs. Haunted by the Prince's twisted, pained expression, Hook gapes at him the whole time. The other two in the room have completely escaped his mind: Neal watches the Prince with pity, whereas Regina, although understanding Charming's feeling, couldn't help the sharp irritation coursing through her veins. Swiftly, she swipes her hand in the direction of Hook.

Everything goes black for him. It remains that way, but the Prince's cries ring repeatedly in his head. In fact, those haunting echoes of a man's...no, a wounded animal's howls remains constant in his subconscious like the waves of the sea even when he awakens in a prison cell the next morning.


End file.
